Towers Page 6
Papa raised a brow. “How about I take them into town? Then you can have more time to get ready for the party.”
Romy shook her head. “You know I don’t care about fancy things. Frieda has been my friend all of these years despite my lack of social graces. I don’t intend on being someone different now. Besides, this party isn’t about me. Their engagement is to be announced tonight.”
Papa pursed his lips together. “And how is that trumped up buffoon going to take that news?”
“Leon?” Romy asked in surprise. She hadn’t seen much of Leon in the past year. However, when she was around him, it was obvious that his tendre for Frieda hadn’t abated. If anything, it was only growing stronger.
Papa nodded. “Does he know they are to wed?”
Romy shook her head. “I doubt it. Frieda whispered the secret to me, but nobody else knows save the king. Thomas had to get permission from his father.”
“Trust me, child. That boy is going to make trouble any way he can.”
That was something that Papa didn’t need to tell her. Romy had known Leon for far too long to trust him any further than she could throw him. Leon was a bad egg. There wasn’t any better way to describe him.
“How about you rest,” Romy suggested, “and I will take these to Widow Hayes? Then when I get back, we can go into town for the party.”
“I am not an invalid.” Papa sounded like an ornery child.
“I didn’t say you were,” she countered calmly.
“Then why must I rest?” he groused.
“You and I both know the answer to that. You must save your strength. Frieda would be devastated if I had to tell her that you couldn’t be there because you were too stubborn to stay off your leg.”
Papa grumbled something underneath his breath that wasn’t fit for company.
Romy laughed, setting the radish basket to the side and moving up the porch steps. Without a word, she passed him the cane they had fashioned out of a lovely piece of wood. Romy had taken special care with its creation. Unlike the straw hat, this she had carved with magic.
Romy had styled the cane to be similar to the brooch she wore under her dress. The intricate carvings had ravens erupting from the sun. It was odd and lovely at the same time. Papa said it reminded him of her—Romy didn’t look too closely into that statement.
Chapter 13
“WIDOW HAYES? ARE YOU there?” Romy knocked again on the door. The wind was restless, dancing across her skin in a pattern that seemed new and yet familiar.
Just as Romy was about to set the basket down, a deep voice sounded behind her. “Can I help you?”
Romy whirled around to see a boy a year or two older than herself carrying a large ax. He had at least two days of scruff on his cheeks and seemed far too large to be any body’s nephew.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What did you do with Widow Hayes?”
He stared at her for a moment. The space seemed to stretch between them like a rubber band. Suddenly it snapped and Romy physically felt the connection break. Who was this man?
The corner of his lips tilted up. “What makes you think I did anything to Widow Hayes?”
“Look at you!” Romy blurted out. “You are so big, and dark. Are you standing on something? And the ax, that’s just creepy. Why do you have an ax? People don’t just carry those around.”
He picked up the ax, as if considering it, and then took a practice swing. “I don’t know why not. Seems to me that if you can carry around radishes, I should be able to carry an ax. Some might think you were the odd one, not me.”
Romy’s dark brows snapped together. “Everyone knows I am odd. It’s kind of my specialty.”
This caused the boy to laugh. It sounded rusty, unused, and utterly charming. Romy didn’t like the way her belly flip-flopped at the sound. Nor did she like the way his eyes seemed to smile even when his lips had stopped. He seemed amused by Romy and her battery of questions. This boy was obviously dangerous.
“If you must know, my aunt was tired. I suggested that she go and lie down. You know how deaf she is. I would be more than willing to bet that if you pounded on the door and yelled at the top of your lungs, she still wouldn’t hear you.”
“If I was a cold-blooded killer, that would be precisely the same thing I would say,” Romy muttered.
His mouth twitched traitorously. “Have you thought about that much?”
Romy drew a blank. “Thought about what?”
“Being a cold-blooded killer,” he responded. “I mean, it’s clear you already know what your thought process would be. First, notice the victim is tired. Second, suggest that they take a nap.”
“You think you are really funny—don’t you?” Romy snapped.
The large boy smiled, it was slow and easy like hot fudge over ice cream. Romy was momentarily hypnotized by it.
“I think you are funny,” he said softly.
This snapped Romy out of her daydreaming.
“Listen—” She paused because his name didn’t come to mind. “What was your name?”
He set the ax against the porch and held out a large hand.
Romy had to set her basket down to take it. Upon contact, that strange connection from earlier zapped back into place. His calloused, warm hand enveloped her smaller one. The moment their hands touched, his eyes lit with curiosity and something Romy really couldn’t put a name to.
“Einar,” he said gruffly.
“I am Romy.”
She hadn’t meant to give him her name, but somehow with their hands connected she had the feeling that she would tell him just about anything.
That scared her enough to yank her hand back.
“You are feisty for one so small,” he said absentmindedly as he opened the door. “Come inside. I have the money for the radishes.”
Romy took one hesitant step inside. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t stepped into the widow’s home hundreds of times before. But with Einar in the room, it had never felt so small before. She watched him warily as he went into the kitchen. She tipped her head to the side, watching him set the basket onto the countertop. Then he washed his hands before going to the third cookie jar where the widow kept her money.
Surely he had to be who he said he was, Romy reasoned. Who else would be so at home in the widow’s house? And it was very unlikely that a murderer would pay for the woman’s radishes, wasn’t it?
Einar came out with a small bag of coins. Romy wasn’t about to take his word that all the money was there. She had been swindled before and wasn’t about to be now.
“Go ahead,” he goaded. “Count it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Romy snapped.
He smiled. “Yes, you were, and we both know it. You know, you are nothing like my aunt described.”
Doubt and uncertainty swept over Romy. She didn’t like talking about herself. Nothing good ever came of it. She was certain of that.
“I don’t know about that,” Romy said shortly.
“Do you want to know what my aunt said?” he asked conversationally. He seemed not to care one way or the other, but Romy noticed that his eyes never left her face even when he passed her the money.
“Not particularly,” Romy replied honestly. “I find that I rarely am pleased with other’s estimations of me. I care more about what I think of myself.”
His brows rose and he nodded slowly. “That is very wise for one so young.”
Romy bristled. “I am eighteen, not a child.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “As old as that?”
She scowled. “Are you making fun of me?”
His amused expression vanished. It happened so quickly that Romy wasn’t even certain that it had been there.
Einar’s gaze was intense when he spoke next. “Romy, I don’t make fun of others—ever.”
It was strange to Romy how adamantly he stated things. Romy was used to being the butt of everyone’s jokes. In truth, she hardly listened to them anymore. It wasn
’t worth it. Romy hadn’t been kidding when she told Einar that she didn’t put her trust in other’s opinions of herself.
Romy had learned along the way that the only person who really mattered was the one staring back at you in the mirror.
“I must go,” she said shakily, clutching the coins to her chest.
Einar didn’t speak; he only looked at her.
“I can pick up the basket next week with the next batch. Or have the widow send word if she needs me to come sooner than that.
“How can I—I mean she, reach you?”
Romy turned back for one final look at the boy. He was handsome in a rugged way. His skin was weathered and tanned by the sun. His hands were rough with callouses, indicating hard work. His eyes were all knowing, and if Romy was correct, a little bit haunted. Romy had no business even forming a friendship with him.
“Speak to the crows,” she said finally. ‘They know how to find me.”
Romy turned on her heel and began to head toward home. She worried for half a minute that Einar might come barreling after her, but he never came.
However, she did feel his gaze on her back as she walked away. It didn’t dissipate until she was clearly out of sight. Romy wasn’t sure if she liked him or not, but she thought about him a great deal.
Chapter 14
“YOU’VE BEEN AWFULLY quiet since you returned home, child. Are you dreading Frieda’s party?” Papa asked as he and Romy slowly made their way across the village.
Romy looked up at her Papa in confusion. “What? No, Papa, I am happy for Frieda.”
“Then what else is the matter?” Papa insisted. “I have known you since before you could walk. The only time you are quiet like this is when you are wrestling out something in your mind.”
Einar’s image flashed across Romy’s mind. It was indecent to focus on one’s physical attributes. But if Romy was forced, she would have to admit the boy wasn’t lacking for looks.
What had really stayed with her was the way his dark eyes had followed her. It was reminiscent of a hawk. Almost as if he were toying with his prey. Romy didn’t want to be prey. She was almost certain of it.
“Did something happen when you went to Widow Hayes’ this afternoon?” Papa pressed.
Romy felt her cheeks flush, betraying her true feelings.
Papa stopped to lean on his cane. “You had better just come out with it.”
Romy felt like finding a deep hole and crawling inside for a millennium or two. “Papa, it’s nothing. The widow was tired and so her nephew paid me for the radishes.”
“Widow Hayes has a nephew?” Papa asked in confusion.
Romy fought a smile. “It does happen occasionally. People have all sorts of relations these days.”
Papa’s lips twitched as he pretended to scowl. “You know, young lady. You have gotten rather sassy in your old age.”
“Old?” Romy drew back and feigned outrage. “I will have you know that you, sir, are far older than I am.”
Papa laughed. “Aye, I am. Most days, I even feel like it too. But not when I am with you, Romy.”
They turned and headed on their way. Romy helped Papa up the steps and then rang the bell. They could hear the partygoers inside. Time had gotten away from them. Or perhaps it wasn’t as easy for Papa to walk the distance as it once had been.
“Romy!” Frieda squealed as she opened the door and flung her arms around her best friend.
Romy was quick to return the embrace.
Frieda then embraced Papa with as much exuberance as she had with Romy. “I am so happy you are here! Please come inside. There is loads of food set up in the dining hall. I believe that we might even have a little dancing later.”
Romy’s stomach twisted. With her uneven legs, dancing was usually out of the question. She smiled weakly at Frieda and looked around the room. “It looks like you have an excellent turnout.”
Frieda beamed at the compliment. “Yes! This is going to be the most perfect night of all nights.”
Romy couldn’t help but return Frieda’s smile. “I am very happy for you. You do know that, right?”
Frieda embraced her again. “Of course, I do! Come along, Thomas will want to see you.”
Romy highly doubted that. However, after she saw that Papa was placed in a soft chair with plenty of food to eat, she followed Frieda. Right before they entered the blue sitting room, somebody ran straight into Romy, nearly sending her to the floor.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her apology broke off when she saw the blazing anger in Leon’s face. Instinctively, Romy took a step back.
“You are a bloody cow, Romy. I don’t know why any of them put up with you.”
The words were so hateful that Romy gasped as if she had been struck.
Leon wasn’t finished. He rounded on Frieda and continued his tirade. “Do you actually mean to marry him? You do know that the person Thomas loves most in the world is Thomas.”
Frieda’s chin tilted up. “I don’t know how you know about our engagement. Nothing has been formally announced. And if you cannot be civil to my guests, I will have to ask you to leave, Leon.”
His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “You think you can just send me away and I will go willingly? You and I were really starting to build something before Thomas came in and ruined it all.”
Frieda shook her head. “No. I have never had romantic feelings for you, Leon. I have always considered you a friend. But seeing your behavior tonight, I am having a hard time remembering why I even considered your friendship of value to me. You are a bully. You take without anyone else’s concern in mind. You refuse to see what’s right in front of your face.”
Leon laughed, but the sound was wrong. His body was shaking with rage. “Me?” he spat. “You actually have the nerve to consider my friendship beneath you? Do all of your precious friends know who you really are? Do they know what you’ve come from?”
Romy glanced around them and noticed that they had drawn quite a crowd. Thomas, of course, was nowhere to be found. Whatever their differences were, Leon and Frieda shouldn’t be airing them in such a public manner. Romy had to do something.
“Why don’t we step outside and discuss things rationally?”
Romy didn’t even see it coming. One minute she was standing and the next she was backhanded and flying against the wall. Her cheek throbbed and the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberated in her ears. Shakily, Romy reached up and felt a trickle of blood from where her lip had split.
Frieda was outraged. “Get out!” she screamed, no longer caring about keeping up pretenses. “This house has seen far too much violence and it will never be that way again. You are to leave and never return. Do you understand me?”
Leon took a threatening step toward Frieda.
Romy tried to clear her head, but the ringing was louder than their voices and spots kept appearing in front of her eyes.
Leon’s hands began to glow. A sinister look overtook his entire body. Suddenly, he raised his hands and shot the magic at Frieda. “You will never find happiness with the Prince,” he began. “Your firstborn will be cursed with the gift of death. Every person your babe touches, for good or ill, will bring about their last breath. Maybe then, Frieda, you will truly know what heartbreak is about.”
“No!” Romy cried out. She wasn’t as familiar with curses, but she knew that they were powerful. To curse one’s firstborn was even worse, because the spell would have time to knit together, each strand woven into something that couldn’t be broken.
“I say!” Thomas appeared at the doorway, pushing through the crowd. “What’s going on here?”
“Congratulations,” Leon bit off.
Thomas smiled genially, not even noticing the way that Frieda was stricken or that Romy was still on the floor.
“Get out,” Frieda said in a low voice.
Leon moved to leave, but Thomas laid a hand on his arm. “Surely there hasn’t been some misunderstanding?”
Romy pushed to a sitting position. She was about to tell Thomas what had truly happened when Frieda interjected. “Leon has to leave. I was bidding your cousin farewell.”
The crowd seemed to be waiting with bated breath. Romy knew that there was only one thing that could be done. With a sigh, she turned toward the wall and began to grow the devil’s breath plant in her hand. If they sprinkled the powder on the food, there was a chance that nobody would remember what really happened on this terrible night.
Romy didn’t see Leon’s disgusted face as he stormed out of Frieda’s home. Nor did she hear the argument that Thomas and Frieda had over his abrupt departure.
Perhaps it was best that she hadn’t. Slowly and carefully, Romy dusted the food and drinks, making sure that everyone was spelled by the devil’s breath. It was only when she came to Papa that she couldn’t do it.
“What have you done, child?”
Romy knew this wasn’t the time to argue. “Terrible things, Papa.”
“You know that every choice for good or ill has a consequence?”
Romy nodded. The churning in her stomach had turned into a hurricane. Doubt plagued her mind, but she didn’t see any other way around it. “Have I done wrong, Papa?”
He stared at her for a long while, his lips pursed and his wizened face devoid of the usual humor. “I can’t say, Romy. There are times in life when the path we need to take is clearly marked. But there are also times when you have to forge your own way. You have chosen your path. Now you must see it through.”
“That was the last of them,” Frieda said as she approached Romy and Papa. “I have sent everyone home to sleep in their beds.”
Frieda’s red rimmed eyes met Romy’s. “What has Leon done?”
Romy shook her head, not knowing how to respond.
“Where is Thomas?” Papa asked.
Frieda twisted her hands together. “Please don’t be angry.”
Papa’s brows raised as Romy took Frieda’s hand. “You spelled Thomas and sent him home.”
Frieda nodded jerkily.
Papa closed his eyes, sighing as if the weight of the world has been placed on their shoulders.